Unspoken
by Zarius
Summary: Follow up to "Puddle Jump". Somewhere in the Twistyverse, the Baroness Von Squawkencluck is a slave to the rhythm of Craig David and her own innermost thoughts as an opportunity for revenge arises (based off ideas by bravekid)


**DANGER MOUSE:**

**UNSPOKEN**

**WRITTEN BY ZARIUS**

* * *

Somewhere in the twistyverse, Baroness Von Squawkencluck was late for a most crucial appointment.

Somewhere on the island of Potatistan (yes, it's a fictious island, what of it? Not everywhere can be Maidstone Kent), her forces had managed to snare a rare prize, someone who had slipped through the barrier reefs of reality and washed up on the island's shores.

Her husband's very own double, the feebler Earnest Penfold of the Dangerous Mouse's realm.

The one who had cheated her out of a powerful weapon she had

She desired revenge, but there were but a few catches.

The first was her private jet had a ferret maintained worker trapped in the turbine engine.

The second was that it was 9 AM rush hour, and thirdly her husband was trying to do the gentlemanly thing and drive her to the airport.

The Baroness looked out at the long stretch of traffic and took a gander at Baron Von Penfold as he constantly fidgeted with the car radio, trying to select a channel that played something he could stomach.

Little did he know that the Danger Agents of their world had taken over most of the local radio stations to play a message of resistance, to ignite a spark of hope, and to play the best of Craig David over the airwaves for twelve solid hours.

Welcome to hell.

The Baroness took out her compact and freshened herself up, her thoughts turned to what she was keeping from her husband, reflecting on the cruel trick his alternate double had played on her heart, posing as him to groom her and get the necessary information on where she had hid a super weapon sought after by the Danger Agents.

She had been used and manipulated, perhaps that was a fitting fate for all the deceit she was capable of providing to her many enemies, and even suitors.

She was a woman of modest privilege, her parents were once advisors to the science council of the royal monarchy that had once presided over this reality's United Kingdom, she had the pick of the men in the royal guard, but none of them could compete with the calibre of person you could meet online.

It was through online correspondence that Baron Von Penfold raised to power with his English Offence League. He had groomed several devote followers online under his alias 'Robinson Tommy Gunn', one of these devotees was the Baroness, who supplied him with the schematics to the nation's defences, allowing him to replicate the weaponry himself and stage a successful coup.

He talked a big game, he played risk well, and he conquered a kingdom.

Now here he was, blaring his car horn at the stubborn pests in front of their vintage 1988 GTO, trying to work out what to play on the radio, and not even looking the Baroness in the eye to assure her things were not quite so out of control.

And all the Baroness wanted to do was make her way over to that island of Potatistan, to look her deceiver in the eye and exact revenge, and maybe even that, express true gratitude for giving her excitement in her life again.

It seemed all the passion, all the snark, all the conniving, could be found more in abundance with the person trying his best to get something important out of her than someone whose duty it was to see the best in her all the time.

She could feel a searing sensation in her stomach, something pulling her into thoughts of the other reality's Squawkencluck, it compelled her to think of what she must have thought of Penfold's mission, and the measures he had taken to try and complete it.

She sensed she'd been furious, but had kept it to herself, and a part of her had already been working on forgiving him for it.

It was this bizarre sensed of understanding that compelled the Baroness to observe her husband's behaviour as he talked on the phone to a comrade, an antelope acquaintance called Keith, inviting him to come over later that day to watch a soccer match.

She thought to her encounter with the alternate Penfold and seemed to recall his true nature was that of a more causal everyman individual, someone who was excited by the most mundane of interests.

In some ways, this was the Baron's way of coping with his own unspoken attachment to his own mirror image, an echo, an imprint. The longer Penfold lingered here, the more occupied the Baron became with considerable blandness.

Finally, the Baroness got out of the car, feeling neglected, and walked through the teeming crowds of angry drivers who had also clambered out of their vehicles, either to give those that remained in their cars a piece of their minds, or to escape the ongoing irritation of the Danger Agencies' broadcasts and incessant looped recordings of Craig David's 'Walking Away'

Perhaps they were becoming slaves to that song's rhythm.

The Baroness received a message on her mobile phone informing her that the Danger Agents of Earnest Penfold's reality had followed him through the barriers and had assisted in his escape. The barriers were swiftly sealed from their end.

The Baroness ought to have annoyed that her window had closed and her intentions of revenge would have to wait, but perhaps it was all for the best.

Maybe now the Baron wouldn't invite Keith over, maybe now the unspoken attachment they had to their otherworldly echoes would dissipate, and they would no longer feel the need to mimic, in subtle or more profound ways, what those others go through on a daily basis.

The Baroness wondered if Penfold spoke of her often, or if the adventure they shared had even been broadcast on prime time children's television? Perhaps that reality had thought it best left to imaginations more broad than those who piece together life for both realities for a good few shillings, or pounds, or euros, or whatever you'll call it after Brexit (on both ends)

She hoped somebody out there other than a privileged few could hear her.

It must be so terrible to be unheard of.

Unspoken.


End file.
